Mini Me

Allow myself to introduce…myself.

Myself being my mini me, my daughter. It’s a weird feeling, knowing that you created a little person, a spawn of yourself. People tell me all the time that my daughter looks exactly like me. I don’t see it because I don’t think it’s possible to know your face the way other people do. You can’t be objective about your own characteristics or even of those of your child, whose face you know by heart. You’re too close to the situation (actually, you aren’t even too close to the situation, the situation being your face, you ARE the situation). But nonetheless, it’s a weird feeling to know that people see you walking with your spawn and they see the resemblance, knowing that person is “yours”. And not just in looks. When my daughter makes certain facial expressions, statements, mannerisms or does certain actions, people always say, “She is SO your daughter.”

Slowly, I’m starting to get worried about raising this little mini me. I’ve heard all the stories of what I was like as a toddler and kid. Tantrums. Moody (especially when hungry…Hangry – that’s for you A.R.). Sensitive. Whatever, you’d be sensitive too if you had terrible eczema on your legs and your sister used to call your legs “eggy leggies”. And I remember what I was like as a teenager (you get no specifics on that one in case one day I want to work for the government and I need my rep in tact). And I was even one of the “good” kids. Like so many adults, I have a respect for my parents that wasn’t possible to have as a kid. I know a little about what is in store for me now. So it’s all well and good that my daughter looks like me and acts like me. But…

I’m not sure I’d wish myself upon…myself.

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